


Not to Be Messed With

by romanrice



Category: Banana Bus Squad, Gay baby gang, The Misfits (Podcast), gbg
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dissociation, FItz is very gay and doesnt know how to handle feelings, Fluff and Angst, Gang Rape, Gang Violence, Gun Violence, Guns, Hurt No Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Torture, Intense, M/M, Major Character Injury, Multi, Panic, References to Drugs, Team as Family, Violence, dear lord get him a drink, fitz is a failing comidian, if youre reading this Zuckles runs a drug cartel, more of a story about finding family, no beta we die like men, this is kinda sad, this is very hard to write
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 10:01:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17702252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanrice/pseuds/romanrice
Summary: Cam is a struggling comedian in Los Santos when he ends up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Turns out he has a lot more in store for him than just a run in with a gang and a small heart attack.





	Not to Be Messed With

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!! Welcome to my story featuring the misfits!
> 
> Please, do point out mistakes so i can better them in the future ^^. Leave kudos if you want, i would very much appreciate it!

Cam never expected his night to end up with his hands bound together and the barrel of a gun to his temple. 

It was a relatively normal mid fall night, the sun barely peeking out above the horizon before the chill of the moon woke the nocturnal, sending the rest into a slumber. With temperatures falling, animals storing food for hibernation, the ghost town of a busy city poisoned Cam’s head with worries of a thug or a gangbanger trying to take him down

He had just been kicked out of a bar, ‘bad jokes,’ was their reasoning. Cam almost scoffed if it weren't for the anxiety squeezing his vocal box shut and making his feet light as air. No sound was made from his body. His head was heavy with hurt. He knew his comedy was bad, it was borderline dad-joke bad, but he was surprised when it got so chaotic in there to the point of having a bottle thrown at him.

He shook his head, he had probably deserved it in some messed up way. That had been the only gig he had gotten that month and not a single penny, not even a pity penny, was given to him.

He had even been ranting to his roommate about how excited he was for this upcoming performance, butterflies fluttering in his stomach in a nervous manner. He barely ate anything that day, shaking non stop from the moment he woke up to the moment he had gotten up on that stage in front of the small crowd of people.

Maybe they just didn’t get his humor. It was a bunch of 60 year olds who had never heard a joke in their life but he would have thought they would have laughed at one or two of the things.

It was whatever. If they didn’t like it, they didn’t like it.

Cam continued walking through the scuffed city, earbuds in his ear but not playing music. He couldn’t risk not hearing someone walking up next to him. The stores were run down, some boarded up, others with kicked in glass. Needles covered the ground, glass shards cracking under the kiwi’s shoe, a bullet or two here of there. Honestly, Cam loved the place, violence and all, but just sometimes he wished he took the offer to move to Oregon. He heard it was more peaceful up north.

Continuing his long walk home, he took a deep breath and puffed out the white clouds of condensation and carbon. He couldn’t wait to just relax in his bathtub with some sort of podcast playing in the background and ease tense muscles. Maybe a nice cup of tea and a small workout session. God, he could already feel his muscles relaxing.

At least, he would have if he didn’t hear the loud gunshot only feet away from him. He jumped, immediate reaction to rip the earbud out and run to the nearest alleyway to hide. He took a deep breath, ignoring the feeling of icy cool wash over his skin. His heart sped up slightly. Looking around the corner, he saw 2, maybe 3 people with masks on run out of the alleyway with a duffle bag to the long line of parked cars.

Cam heard yelling, a deeper voice, a smallest turn of nasal in it. Shaking in his boots, he listened to the men whisper yelling at each other as one of their supposed coworkers (If you could call gang members ‘coworkers’) ran out only to drop dead with a bullet hole in the back of his skull.

His heart skipped a beat, lungs seemingly not getting any air.

From the alleyway was the deep, nasally voice turn sour. “Marcus, did you really think we wouldn’t notice the the fakes in the bag? We’ve already killed one of your own, we’re willing to trade it back with no consequences!”

The people behind the car spoke in a foreign tongue Cam could only assume was Russian, maybe Dutch if he remembered correctly. “No! We go with the bag and we all have fun.”

Cam cringed at the broken english, considering himself right when he heard the russian accent. Taking another breath he tried to stay as silent as possible.

“Not possible. Fair trade or no trade. You know how Zuckle runs the cartel. You disobey and suffer the consequences.” A new person spoke. He had an accent similar to his own. It seemed thick with a playfulness that lured Cam in but had an edge to it, a sickeningly sweet edge that felt foul, rotten to the core.

One stood, gun in his hand. “McCreamy! They are not fake, taste it, comrade.”

He dropped to the ground, blood pouring out of the hole in his head.

Cam choked on his own spit, gagging at the sight of the spilled blood. He leaned on the wall, still managing to watch the scene unfold in front of him. The others stared at what Cam could only assume as the leader of the group before aiming their guns at the clique inside the alleyway.

They shot, rounds being fired back and forth, ducking and aiming, blind firing (he was honestly surprised he didn't get shot in between the commotion). He heard another body drop from his side, assuming it was another one of the Russian members. The gunshots rang out for another few minutes before it stopped all together. Cam breathed heavily, adrenaline yelling at him yet shock making him stand tall, refusing to move.

He heard footsteps, guessing it was the group in the alleyway. He watched them walk over to the body’s, maybe 3, 4 of them all conversing.

“Are we going to tell Mason?”

“Of course, dipshit. We report everything back to him. You should know this by now, you basically run this whole sha-bang with him.” He identified the man with the deep voice to have a mask that resembled closely to a dark souls character. Solarie’s if he remember correctly.

He stared at the last one, he was an average height, only wore a pink bandana that covered his nose and mouth.

The one asking about Mason had scoffed at the nickname given to him and rolled his eyes, picking up the duffle bag. “Whatever. Let’s just get out before the cops can catch us.”

The man in pink looked up, scanning the area. They caught each others glances.

Cam was screwed. So royally screw. Maybe in some universe that guy only thought he was a figment of his imagination, maybe he just didn't see him. It was quite dark out even with the street lamps above them. 

It was silent, deafeningly silent. A feather could drop and you would hear it. The kei held his breath, eyes closed tight. His heartbeat was in his ears, blood rushing to every orifice of his body.

He held his breath, something being pressed to his neck.

“Who are you?” 

Yeah, he definitely saw.

He let himself relax. If he was relaxed he would be more level headed.

“Cameron…” He breathed out, looking down at the three pairs of feet in front of him and the peripherals of the people facing him.  
“Camron, huh?” The guy with the deep voice spoke. Cam noted he was the shortest of the few, buffer in the chest than the rest. “You affiliated with Marcus’ gang?”

“No..” He closed his eyes again, a faint stinging in his neck making his body tingle in warning.“I don’t know who Marcus is, I was just trying to get home…”

They questioned and questioned, asking so many repeating questions that the confident aura Cam had slipped on was starting to slip into a snappy, grouchy old man vibe.  
The three looked at each other, a silent question being asked. Cam would never have been able to understand what they were trying to ask, he was too irritated to even comprehend that he could have probably taken all 3 of them out with his height and adrenaline alone.

The man in the pink bandana and the Dark Souls man nodded at each other, taking the knife off of his throat before socking him right in the nose right before he smashed the back of his head into the building behind of him.

Everything went dark.

|_|

Cam woke up with a splitting headache, nose flaring up in pain and wrists bound together with rope in an expert way. He squinted his eyes, trying to adjust them to the light of the room. He saw a pink blob in the corner of the room, a tall lanky boy standing off to the side. He had a shaved head and his stanced yelled casual. He had a gun in his hand, eyes stuck on him.

His ears rang slightly, an unpleasant kink in his neck annoying him. He sighing inwardly. This would be fucking fantastic.

“So, Cameron Fitz. What did you see last night that caused my boys to sock ya in the face and drag you back here?”

Cameron felt himself tense slightly, eyes trying to ignore the sleek metal of the gun pointed towards the ground.

“I--I saw most of a deal. I think it was anyway..” Honesty. He was just going to be honest.

“Mhm, You know who Marcus Belyayev is?”

“N-No sir. He was mentions a few times during the altercation and in many news reports but...other than that no..”

The boy hummed, eyes staring straight into Cam’s. “What do you know about what happened last night? Where did you come from? Why were you walking on that road?”

Cam breathed out, anxiety somehow lowering. “A drug deal maybe? I’m...I’m not to sure. I came from Louise’s Sports Bar down on 38th, a comedy gig gone wrong, got kicked out...that street what the quickest way back to my apartment..”

“You have any roommates?”

“Yes.”

“One or multiple?”

“One.”

The man’s eyes softened slightly, almost relieved to hear that he would only have to deal with one vermin who reported the missing person to the police.

“What’s his name?”

“John...John Kasay if i remember correctly..”

The formers eyes shot up, his lips quirking before going back to neutral. “Would this particular person care if you disappeared in the near future?”

Cam laughed at the small thought in his head, ignoring the threat of possible death. “He’d probably just want my rent money.”

The boy let his head shake. With a smile before lazily raising the gun to Cam’s temple. “You swear you told the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

“Yes, Officer.” Cam’s blood boiled with anxiety, any sense of physical nervousness running low from the energy he spent the night prior.

“Hmm.” The boy took the gun away and cocked an eyebrow inwards. Without another word he set the gun on a table about ten feet away and walked up the stairs and through a door.

If someone told Cam he would have to have his hand tied together and a gun to his head because he witnessed 4 murders he would have laughed, shrugged, and called you crazy. Now, well…

He wasn’t so sure.


End file.
